


Troublesome Trevor

by SierraSmith



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4924798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraSmith/pseuds/SierraSmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I just met a jock who may not be like the others. I could use this to my advantage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Troublesome Trevor

**Author's Note:**

> trevor's POV
> 
> I promise the next chapter will have more dialogue!

It was the third week of school.  
I don't know how I've made it this far. I just wanna drop out of stupid prison-- I mean high school, and go to fucking flight school, but the school I've got my finger pointed on requires a stupid ass high school diploma.  
It was lunch time, and as usual, I was sitting alone, just as the lone wolf would enjoy, making my own company. “Friends are for the weak,” I thought. Ron and Wade would try to come up to sit with me at times, but even I, Trevor MotherFucking Philips, was embarassed to be seen with them, and I'm not even one to give a shit about what other people think. 

That stupid lunch table in the back of the cafeteria near the backdoors was full of buff, douchebag jocks was loud as usual, with their monotone, obnoxiously loud laughs. Why do people think they have to be obnoxious to be cool? No idea.  
It was just something at that table though. Something was... off. For almost a week now, that stupid jock Michael hasn't been smiling or laughing at any of their corny ass jokes.

Lunch was finally over, and all of the jocks had slutty girlfriends, with their short ass uniform that they picked out, with their butts hanging out. Usually, I would be turned on by that, but I fucking hate, and I mean hate, everyone at this dump. All of the jocks and their girlfriends eating each other's faces, saying “See you next period!” It's only 42 fucking minutes! Get a room. The fact that I'm one to have sex even in a Burger Shot and I'm thinking, “get a room?” Fucking terrible.

All the jocks “bro-hugging” as they call it, by hugging and patting each other backs probably 200 times loudly got annoying as fuck. We get it, you're not having a fucking orgy party. You're straight. We fucking get it. Don't shove it down the throats of people actually trying to get a fucking education here either. Also, don't shove it down mine.

I don't even know what the hell I'm doing here. My mother is rarely home, and my dad left. I don't even know why I show up. Oh yeah, I remember, skipping school for no fucking reason gets you a damn detention, and I'm not a fan of fucking detention anymore, because most of the braindead jocks are always in it.

Just as I was walking to English class, I'm stopped by that stupid jock Steve Haines. He pulled out his pocket knife, expecting me to cringe and get all pussy. He put it by my neck where my tattoo “Cut Here” was. I'm assuming that's his attempt at a threat, but it didn't really affect me. At all.

Steve held up that dull pocketknife to my throat, taunting me by saying, “What you gonna do, pussy Trevor boy? You scared?” Steve was laughing maniacally.

I knew exactly how to handle this. I quickly grabbed his forearm and twisted. The pocketknife fell to the ground, making a loud noise of something scratching against the groumd. I quickly grabbed it and mocked his monotone voice, “What are you gonna do, pussy Stevey boy? You scared?” My breath smelled like old beer, and I could tell it was bothering the jock because Steve cringed, and I soon noticed there was a crowd of people, including that fucking annoying jock I keep seeing, debating with his dumb friends if he was gonna stop the fight. Someone screamed, “TEACHER!” and everyone, including me, scrambled quickly. I kept the knife in my pocket.

I'm not one to be frightened by teachers, but I didn't wanna be seen with a knife out for no apparent reason, then have to explain something that would sound bullshitted. Everyone who was watching the fight got to their classes 5 minutes after the bell rang. Everyone was cool not saying what happened, as Trevor hoped, but Ron with his snitching ass,

“Trevor got in a fight!! He gotsa knife in- in his pocket!!” Ron then screamed.

Someone in class, I don't even know who, he seemed to be a transfer student, quickly snapped and said, “Man, Ron, will you shut the fuck up, dog? You want that crazy dude to beat your crazy motherfuckin' ass next?”

“I'm sorry, Franklin!! He just.. has a knife! Mrs. MacAvoy, he has a knife!! Do something!!”

I groaned loudly and took the dull knife out my pocket, showed the teacher, and tried to defend myself. “Less than 8 inches on the knife. It's allowed.”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Philips, I'm going to have to send you to the principal's office.” I let out a long sigh, running my hand through my thinning hair as some fell on my shoulders. A kid was snickering with his friend. I quickly snapped,

“Hey, maybe I'm the only one getting suspended for an 8 inch pocketknife because I'm the only one with 8 fucking inches, in this pocket! I pointed to my crotch and started to unzip my stained denim jeans.

“Okay, Trevor, THAT'S ENOUGH! I think it's time for you to leave now.” The teacher was basically pushing me at this point out the door.

“Ever thought about that, giggly boy? Fuck off.” I zipped my jeans back up, scoffed, and walked out the classroom.

Well, I was home, suspended for a week. For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about that annoying jock, Michael. I really wanted to see him, and there was a game today. I don't really give a shit about the other people on the football team. I'm always one to fulfill my own damn needs, if you can catch my drift.

It's an away game, so I drove in my Bodhi to the game at the rival school. My license was also suspended for getting in an accident with an old lady, but does it look like I fucking care? I just wanted to fucking see Michael.

If it were a home game, I would have to sneak in, but thank the Lord Almighty that I don't. I didn't bring money to buy a ticket for the stupid game, but I was banned from the sports games for jumping out of the audience and humping a girl on the swim team. Nice ass. But to get in, I just choked the dude selling the stupid ass tickets and swore him to silence. It wasn't necessary, but who gives a shit? Free stuff, I ain't complainin'. Just like free beer. No matter how bad it is, I'll still fucking drink it.

Michael seemed like the only jock doing work. Steve and Brad were dancing in a corner from what it looked like, and Dave was smoking as usual, while trotting in a circle. Michael tried to throw the ball to Steve who was “open”, but he hit him in the face instead and knocked his helmet off. That was some comedy. Made my night.

The game stopped for whatever reason, I don't know anything about football, but I saw a bunch of cheerleaders start dancing for the home team. Michael was just staring at me, cold in the face. I looked at him for half a second, then looked back at the cheerleaders' with their bouncing boobs and jiggling butts. I look back a minute later, and he's still looking at me. I got sick of the shit. I had to see what the fuck his problem was.

I walked up to the dumb daydreaming jock, and pushed him to wake him from whatever fantasy he was living in his head. “Hey dude, the fuck is your problem, huh? Staring at me. Fuck. Off.”

“Hey man, meant nothing from it. I was just thinkin' about something. Sheesh.” Michael turned around to probably talk shit about me to his dumb jock friends. I got sick of the stupid game. Michael was starting to irritate me. I left. Fuck that shit, and fuck you, Michael.

As I drove home Ron was there, he was screaming at me trying to say something about the stupid ass jocks again.  
“Ron, for the last fucking time, I don't give a flying fuck about those fucking jock pricks!” I pulled a beer out of my fridge and tried to throw one his way, but he failed to catch it, glass shattering all over the floor.

“O-Oh.. Trevor, I'll buy some more!! I promise!! Please don't hurt me.” I walked up to Ron, pissed the fuck off, and hit him in the head with my beer bottle until the cold glass shattered all over his head. He was severely bleeding, but my day has been long enough. After a while, meaning less than 5 fucking minutes, Ron was really starting to annoy me with his stupid ass screaming and crying, I dragged him out of the trailer, and he fell off the few stairs on the outside steps of the trailer from being so weak. Does it look like I'm in the mood to hear crying, when that's all my heart is fucking doing with these weird feelings about that damn jock?

I don't even know what this is. A crush? A romantic interest? Maybe he was staring at me for a reason. Fuck it, I'm not letting this dumb seventh grade shit get to me, like when I dated that stupid bitch Amanda. That's Michael's bitch now, last time I checked. They are not gonna last. I have a bad feeling about her, and a part of me wants to save Michael from Amanda's bullshit. But I'm going to fucking bed.

Well, I mean, I tried.

I couldn't stop thinking about Michael. I kept blushing about his fucking face. His buff muscles, with shoulder pads making him look even more “buff and tough”, his stupid football jersey. Just his eyes when he stared at Michael. I hid my face deep in my pillow blushing really hard, while saying to myself, “Fuck you, Michael” over and over. I fell asleep with a wide smile on my face, according to my mom.

In the middle of the week, I was at home watching re-runs of Impotent Rage, when I got a knock on my door. I didn't pay much attention to it, I was in the Impotent Zone, if that makes sense.

I then heard a voice, “Hey man, can you open up?” I didn't respond for a bit, again, I was in the zone. The knocking got louder and louder, and whoever was at the door needeed to seriously shut the fuck up, so I grunted and found some pants lying around that carried a smell of gasoline, but everything here carries a smell of gasoline. I didn't have a shirt on and I was too lazy to find one, so whoever was at the door was gonna have to deal with it.

“The fuck do you want?” I answered while pulling my pants up a little higher, while licking my dry lips.

“Oh, hey man. I was just wondering if you were alright last night.” It was Michael. Fucking Michael Townley. He had a white polo shirt on, with stained gray pants.

I didn't reply for a minute. I'm not gonna lie, I was just looking at Michael for a while. How did he know where I live?

“How'd you know I live here?” I said that in a serious tone, walking closer to the jock as he started to step back slowly.

“I asked Ron, man. I know you have that Trevor Philips Industries drug dealing business thing. You should really start selling at school. Meth is the new fad, it could really get the jocks to like you.”

“I don't need fucking friends, Townley. I enjoy my own company.” I walked inside, allowing Michael to come in, because it was way too fucking hot to just stand outside.

“Well, can I try some at least? I-I mean, I've never... smoked meth.. I only have Redwood.” Michael looked at me nervously. I don't know why he thought I was gonna snap. I give free trials of my stuff all the fucking time, so what the hell?

I didn't respond for a moment. I opened the cooler and stared inside it, avoiding eye contact with the jock sitting on my couch.

Michael broke the silence. “Alright, um, Can I at least have a beer? I skipped school to come here, gotta give me a little credit.”

I ignored Michael, walking out the door slowly after taking a beer for myself. “I gotta go for a drive.”

“You can't just leave me here, Trevor!” Michael grabbed a beer for himself and got in my Bodhi. I didn't wanna take the Bodhi anymore. First of all, Michael was in it, second of all, cops were in town for some reason, and I don't want to go back to juvenile detention for my suspended license.

Michael left his keys in his car, so I got in, quickly starting it, trying to leave as quickly as possible, but the jock got out the Bodhi pretty fast. Fuck. I'm probably gonna be blushing for the whole car ride. 

I blasted the radio in the car trying to avoid looking or talking to Michael. But this fucker turned down the radio to talk to me.

“Where are you taking me? Are you kidnapping me? Is that why Weston hasn't been in school for the last few days? Are you taking me to the same-”

“Shut.. the fuck up, Michael! I'm not kidnapping you. Weston was suspended for getting that cheerleader pregnant. Lester's girlfriend.”

“Who the fuck is Les-”

“You wanted to try my stuff, didn't you? That's where I'm taking you. Alright? Jeeeeeeeeeeeeesus.” I looked at Michael for half a second, seeing him bringing a beer up to his lips slowly.  
“Where the fuck did you get that? Did I tell you to get a beer for yourself?”

“Sorry, man. I-I was just thirsty.”

“Does it look like I give a shit? I didn't tell you to fucking take my beer!”

The rest of the car ride was silent. We finally got where I wanted to go. “Stay here”, I surely told Michael. There were probably crackheads in the abandoned alley where I drove, and I didn't want Michael's pretty face to be beaten up. I don't know his parents, and I don't want to be part of the story that he'd have to tell.

I walked quietly in the alley, seeing two crackheads passed in different places, both looking beat up. Desperate for money, I searched their pockets, and sighed at the emptiness.

I went to the secret spot in the alleyway where there's usually tons of meth, where my car was in sight, and Michael was staring at me out the window. I opened the box that usually has the meth, but it was empty. I was then pushed into a brick wall, head first, knocked unconscious for a few seconds. Michael jumped out the car and ran over to defend me, tackling the other crackhead to the ground. I heard Michael grunting from having no gear, in pain. This isn't fucking football, Townley. I could've helped my fucking self.

The homeless crackhead was left unconscious. I had a scar over my eyebrow, and my lip was busted. Michael's hand was bleeding, and he had a knot on the side of his face.

“Just wanted to help ya, T. Don't give a fuck if I have to explain this shit to my dad.” Michael reached his arm out to help me up off the ground. I grabbed his arm and looked back at my hand, tons of blood now all over it.

“Now is that my blood, or yours?” Michael joked, and I actually laughed.

Michael is actually really cool to hang out with. This crush isn't helping me out either. Fuck.

We got back in the Tailgater, me feeling frustrated and Michael feeling energized. Michael and I took our now room temperature beer bottles, clinked them together to hear the pretty glass sound, then took a sip. “Sorry I couldn't get you the stuff, Townley.”

“Nah, it's fine. Just take me home. I didn't have money on me anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> My second work ever! I hope this is at least okay!


End file.
